The Mountain WreathUnabridged Internet Edition [First Serbian Edition: Wien, 1847]Translated into English by Vasa D. Mihailovich, Professor of Slavic Languages, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill (USA)SERBIAN EUROPEJurija Gagarina 116-3211000 Belgrade, Serbia, YugoslaviaHardcover - 210 pages; 20 cmIn Serbian language with parallel English translationBased on Second Revised Paper Edition, published by SERBIAN EUROPE, Belgrade, 1997Courtesy of"SERB LAND OF MONTENEGRO", and itsfirst digital edition, reproduced by "Project Rastko - Digital library of Serbian Culture", February 2000.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOREWORDFacsimile of the original title page (1847)

In our desire to take part in the celebration of the 150th anniversary of our greatest poetic work, we have decided to publish it with a parallel English translation, the first of the kind in our country.*The first edition ofThe Mountain Wreathin English was published in 1930, in the translation by the first English lector in the newly founded Department of English at the University of Belgrade, James W Wiles, who had learnt Serbian quite well. But, as any translation of a great poem into another language, Wiles could not quite adequately render into English all intricate lines and phrases of Njegos's linguistic and stylistic features. All students of this work, especially the translators of poetry, know that it is impossible to satisfy all the requirements of a perfect translation. It was observed a long time ago that translations are like women: if they are beautiful, they are not faithful, if faithful - they are not beautiful.Apart from the desire to improve on the previous translation, it is necessary for every new generation to attempt a new translation of a great poem in order to refresh it with new features and qualities of the language into which it is translated.The translation by Mr. Vasa D. Mihailovic, a naturalized American and an outstanding Slavic scholar at the University of North Carolina, (Chapel Hill, USA), appeared in the USA more than half a century after the first English translation, for both reasons just mentioned. This jubilee is an additional reason for this translation to appear in the poet's native country, as a new and revised edition. It was recommended to us by some English Slavicists as well as by some of our local Njegos scholars.In Introduction to his translation, also republished here, Professor Mihailovic presents not only his interesting observations on Njegos and his works, particularly those on Njegos's contribution to world literature, but he also enlarges on his approach to renderingThe Mountain Wreathinto English different from the one chosen by James W Wiles and still more clearly justifies his call for a new translation of this epic. That is why we have decided to publish his introduction also, both in English and in Serbian.Our English scholars and British Slavicists are, naturally, most competent to judge Mihailovics translation, but it will be done with due justice if his translation is compared with Serbian translations of Shakespeare. Shakespeare's works have been translated into Serbian since 1860 and we are still not satisfied with those achievements. To be sure, neither are other European nations that began that work long before us and whose languages are far more similar to English than the Serbian language is.We are obliged to Professor Vasa D. Mihailovic' for his contribution to the appreciation of English speaking readers of the best South Slavic epic; and for enabling us to join the celebration of this anniversary with this new and unusual edition.* The first such edition of The Mountain Wreath, in Vasa D. Mihailovics translation, appeared in the USA in 1986. Three years later its reprint edition appeared in Belgrade, and this is its first Serbian edition with a parallel English verse translation thoroughly revised by the translator so that it is almost a new version.

INTRODUCTIONPetar II Petrovic Njegos

Petar Petrovic Njegos was a great poet, a prince by inheritance, and the Bishop of Montenegro in the first half of the nineteenth century. In fulfilling successfully these roles imposed on him by circumstances, he not only built for himself a pedestal among the immortals but also set his beloved Montenegro on the road toward full self-realization. Today he is revered as Montenegro's most illustrious son and the greatest poet in Serbian literature.Born November 1, 1813, in the village of Njegusi in Montenegro, Njegos was a member of a leading family which had produced state leaders for several generations in that small mountainous country. He grew up among illiterate peasants and shepherds, whose main duty was to fight incessant battles with the invading Turks and to till their infertile land. He left home when he was eleven and entered the Cetinje monastery, at that time the only place of any culture and education in Montenegro. His schooling was meager and unconventional; first in the monastery, then as tutored by the self-educated and eccentric poet Sima Milutinovic Sarajlija. Milutinovic taught the young Njegos a few basic disciplines and instilled in him an appreciation for heroic folk poems, through which he called forth Njegos 's own poetic inspirations. Njegos was sent by his uncle, the state and spiritual leader of Montenegro, to a school near Herceg-Novi, on the Adriatic coast, just beyond the Montenegrin border. His brief stay there was highly beneficial to him because for the first time he was able to live in a more civilized environment. It was at this time that he began to write poems in imitation of folk poetry, which was then the only kind of literature of which the people of Montenegro were aware.Though he had meager theological training, at the age of seventeen, in October 1830, Njegos inherited his uncle's title as the head of both the state and the church. He remained in that capacity until his death. During his rule Njegos spent most of his energy in leading Montenegro out of the Middle Ages, while nonetheless finding time to write. He had to bring order among the Montenegrin tribes, which resisted his attempts to eradicate common crime and often conducted bloody wars against one another. He tried to convince his countrymen that they ought to pay taxes so that the country could be modernized. He also fought to establish the borders of Montenegro and played diplomatic games with the great powers - Turkey, Austria, and Russia - in order to achieve formal recognition of Montenegro as a sovereign state, while at the same time organizing military campaigns against the Turks and their Montenegrin converts. He built schools and roads, very few of which had existed before him; organized a small governing body called the Senate; created the first organized police force in Montenegro to combat crime, collect taxes, and prevent tribal wars; imported a printing press and started publishing books; and sent gifted youths abroad to provide for an enlightened future leadership for the country. All the while he was dreaming of the liberation of all Slavs from the Turks, placing his greatest hope in Russia as the protector of the Slavs. In 1833 he went to Russia, where he was officially ordained Bishop of Montenegro. While on his journey to Russia, in Vienna, he twice met Vuk Karadzic, the great reformer of the Serbian written language and collector of Serbian folk literature. Njegos gave Vuk some of his writings to be published and, in turn, was encouraged by Vuk to write more. From Russia Njegos brought many books, which represented his first real encounter with world literature. His second trip to Russia, in 1837. contributed even further to the recognition of Montenegro as a sovereign state and to the security of its borders. He remained a loyal admirer of Russia all his life, even when Russia had to make peace with his arch-enemy, Turkey.The next ten years were a period of lively literary activity in Njegos's life, during which he wrote his greatest works -The Ray of MicrocosmandThe Mountain Wreath, while continuing his struggle for a strong and secure Montenegro. The revolutions of 1848 in Europe strengthened his hopes that all Slavs, especially the South Slavs, would completely free themselves from foreign domination, and that his beloved Montenegro would finally be left in peace. When the revolutions failed, Njegos was bitterly disappointed. In addition, strenuous work under unsavory conditions and the constant fighting which surrounded him undermined his health. He fell ill of tuberculosis and after several trips to Italy and Austria in search of a cure, died on October 19, 1851, at his capital Cetinje, in his thirty-eighth year, too young to finish his two main missions - as a statesman and as a poet. He is buried at Lovcen, a mountain peak he had chosen himself. His mausoleum is now a shrine for his whole nation.

Njegos began to write poetry at a very early age, when he was only six-teen. His four books of poetryThe Voice of Mountaineers(1833),The Cure for Turkish Fury(1834),The Song of Freedom(1835, published 1854), and The Serbian Mirror(1845) - attest to the fact that poetry was foremost on his mind and in his heart, even when he was preoccupied with other concerns. His early poems imitate the folk poetry with which he grew up and whose influence stayed with him his entire life. As he matured, imitation gave way to his own renditions of the overriding theme of Serbian folk epic poetry - the struggle against the Turkish occupation or the threat thereof, and the eventual liberation from it. The freeing of all Serbs from the Turkish yoke was Njegos lifelong dream, both as a statesman and as a poet. In poems like "A New Montenegrin Poem about the War between the Russians and the Turks"(1828) and A Montenegrin Captured by a Fairy (1834), Njegos glorifies the bravery of the Serbs in that struggle as epitomized by Karageorge, the leader of the First Serbian Uprising against the Turks in 1804. Yet, even though these poems are imbued with the heroic spirit of folk poetry and follow its formalistic features, they also reveal the authenticity and potential power of Njegos's own poetic talent, which would be manifested in his later works.Njegoss first important work, and one of the greatest achievements in Serbian literature, is the epic poemThe Ray of Microcosm, (1845, in English, 1952 and 1957). Written in the decasyllabic meter of Serbian folk poetry, it deviates from the spirit of folk poetry in that it deals with the poet's philosophical and religious views on man, his origin, his relationship with God, and his ultimate fate on earth. The six cantos of this epic present, through the eyes of a poet who is given the opportunity to visit the cosmos in its pre-existence, Njegoss own interpretation of the origin of the world and man's role in it. As in Christian tradition, Njegos sees the world as God's creation after the titanic struggle of Light and Darkness, but Njegoss man is created by God before the creation of the earth and is condemned to eternal suffering on earth after he has joined Satan in the rebellion against God. Thus, Njegos's religious outlook is basically in agreement with the Christian view although it differs in details. The poem is written in an exalted tone as befits the subject matter, and the depth of his views and thoughts resembles that of Dante's Divine Comedy and Miltons Paradise Lost, to which it is often compared. While it is true that Njegos was familiar with both of these works, his epic is the result of his own thinking and poetic power.Njegos published hismagnum opus,The Mountain Wreath, in 1847, the banner year in Serbian literature. In the same year Vuk Karadzic published his own translation of the New Testament into a language that every Serb could understand, and Branko Radicevic published his Poems, the first collection of Serbian lyric poetry in the language of the people. To be sure,The Mountain Wreathgoes beyond the significance of the year. It is a modern epic written in verse as a play, thus combining three of the major modes of literary expression.The Mountain Wreathrepresents a synthesis in another sense as well. It is based on historical facts, thus it can be called a historical play. It epitomizes the spirit of the Serbian people kept alive for centuries; indeed, there is no other literary work with which the Serbs identify more. it gave Njegos an opportunity to formulate his own philosophical views, views which also reflect and further inspire those of his nation. Finally, in this work the author reaches artistic heights seen neither before nor since in Serbian literature. These are the main reasons for the universal reverence for and high estimation ofThe Mountain Wreaththe highest achievement in all of Serbian literature.The play is based on a historical event in Montenegro that took place toward the end of the seventeenth century, known as "the exterminations of the Turkish converts." Although the historical facts about this event are somewhat uncertain, it is known that at approximately that time Montenegrins attempted to solve radically the problem of many of their brethren who, having succumbed to the lure of Turkish power, had agreed to being converted to Islam, mainly to improve their increasingly harsh lives. The fact that Njegos used this event only as a general framework, however, without bothering about the exact historical data, underscores his concern with an issue that had preoccupied him throughout his entire life: the struggle for freedom from foreign oppression. He subjects the entire plot and all characters to this central idea.The themes presented inThe Mountain Wreathlend the work dimensions that go far beyond its local limitations. The basic theme is the struggle for freedom, justice, and dignity. The characters are fighting to correct a local flaw in their society - the presence of turncoats whose allegiance is to a foreign power bent on conquest - but they are at the same time involved in a struggle between good and evil, which is found everywhere in nature. Thus, while depicting the local problem Njegos points at the ideals that should concern all mankind. He expresses a firm belief in man and in his basic goodness and integrity. He also shows that man must forever fight for his rights and for whatever he attains, for nothing comes by chance. Apart from these universal concerns, Njegos presents the centuries-old struggle of his people for the ideals just mentioned. Perhaps no people on earth has been forced by historical circumstances to pay for every speck of land and every piece of bread with blood and sweat as have the Montenegrins. In elevating their struggle to a universal level Njegos seems to find both justification and reward for their efforts. It should also be pointed out that much of the action and many characters inThe Mountain Wreathpoint at similarities with Njegos and his own time. By connecting the past with the present he gave vent to his own frustrations which were caused by the often insurmountable difficulties he had to endure in his attempts to create a better life for his people. It is safe to assume that many of the thoughts and words of Bishop Danilo and Abbot Stephen reflect Njegos's own, and that the main plot of the play - the extermination of the converts - illuminates the one overriding ambition of his life -to free his people and enable them to live in peace and dignity.The Mountain Wreathis not a drama in the usual sense of the word. Divided into four scenes of unequal length, it has many subscenes which tend to weaken the unity of action. There is little direct action, moreover, most of it is related by characters, sometimes at great length. It is more of aLesedramaand it is not performed often: even when it is, it is done with revisions. It cannot be said, however, that the play is totally devoid of dramatic quality: at times it is highly dramatic, even in the speeches relating the action. There is also a healthy dose of humour which enlivens an otherwise sombre and often tragic atmosphere.One of the most important merits ofThe Mountain Wreathis its high artistic quality. Employing a decasyllabic meter borrowed from folk poetry, the play is written in the pure language of folk poetry, a language that never ceases to astound the reader and listener. There are many powerful metaphors and striking images. When numerous profound thoughts are added, frequently expressed in the laconic manner of proverbs (indeed, many of them have become proverbs), the picture ofThe Mountain Wreathas a masterful work of art is complete.Njegos wrote his second play - and his last major work -Stephen the Small, the Pretender(1847), soon afterThe Mountain Wreath. Yet, despite some similarities (both plays are based on history and are written in the decasyllabic meter, for example), the two plays could not be more different. Njegos collected the material for this play in the archives at home and in Venice, as well as in the rich folklore about the main character and his exploits.Stephen the Smallwas published in 1851, the last of his books which he would see in print.The historical background of the play covers one of the most fascinating and bizarre events in Montenegrin history. A man appeared in Montenegro in 1767 claiming that he was the Russian Tsar Peter III, who had disappeared in Russia under mysterious circumstances and was believed to have been murdered. Most Montenegrins believed Stephen and installed him as their ruler. His rule lasted only until 1774, however, because some Montenegrin leaders doubted his story; a Russian envoy, Dolgorukov, arrived to claim his extradition; and the Turks demanded that he be handed over to them. The Turks even attacked Montenegro for that purpose, but were defeated. During the brief war Stephen behaved in a cowardly manner, thus losing respect among Montenegrins. But because he did some good during his short reign - he brought unity among the feuding tribes, effected reforms, and defeated the Turks - his shortcomings were forgiven, even after he finally admitted that he had come from Dalmatia as an adventurer. Stephen was murdered by a Greek in Turkish service, who cut his throat while shaving him.Such an adventure tale could have served Njegos well had he been a more skillful playwright. But instead of concentrating on the plot, dramatic as it was, he used the dramatic form mainly to put forth his views on Montenegrin history, on the never-ending war against the Turks, and on the Montenegrin character in general. The play is much less exalted and much more down to earth thanThe Mountain Wreath. It is also much more of a traditional play thanThe Mountain Wreath. Even though it does not always adhere to the unities of time and place and the scenery sometimes changes in the midst of an act, it is clearly divided into five acts, with eleven scenes on an average in each act. Still, the fact of the matter is thatStephen the Smallis also more of aLesedramathan a play to be acted (it is indeed seldom performed). The actors spend most of their time talking rather than acting, and the author seems to be carried away by their incessant talk.The lack of a truly dramatic quality inStephen the Smallreveals that Njegos was more preoccupied with his own views about this brief and strange episode in Montenegrin history than with its dramatic potential. It is also conceivable that, having experienced similar difficulties in dealing with his own people and with the Turks, he wanted to point out the basic differences between his approach through strength of mind, will, and character, and Stephen's through deceit and adventurism. At the same time Njegos could not ignore the fact that, despite his shortcomings Stephen did have some success in dealing with the Montenegrins and the Turks in the area in which Njegos had a lifelong ambition to succeed - in dealing with the Montenegrins and the Turks.Stephen the Smallis, therefore, less successful as a traditional play than it is in offering a fascinating picture of the conditions in Montenegro in the second half of the eighteenth century, of some, often humorous, traits of the Montenegrin character, and of Montenegro's relationship with Russia. Perhaps the greatest significance of this play lies in showing the organic development of the author, as Vido Latkovic sees it, from an idealist inThe Ray of Microcosm, and romanticist inThe Mountain Wreathto a realist inStephen the Small, the Pretender.The importance of Njegos's contribution to Serbian, as well as world, literature can be seen both from a local and a universal point of view. Locally, his appearance at the time when Serbian literature was making its first unsure steps after centuries of dormancy lent this reawakening a strong impetus. Coming in the midst of the struggle for the use of the people's language in literature, Njegos's use of the vernacular, which he patterned after folk poetry, assured the success of this all-important linguistic reform. His poetic power, depth of thought, and ability to express himself in artistic form, moreover, an ability not seen before or after in Serbian literature, enabled this literature to rejoin the rest of the world during the period of Romanticism. From the universal standpoint, Njegos's preoccupation with some of the most basic themes of human existence - man's origin and the meaning of his life, the constant struggle between good and evil, man's yearning for freedom - makes him a poet of universal significance and appeal. For these reasons he is considered to be the greatest Serbian and South Slavic writer. Although a lack of adequate translations has precluded him so far from reaching a wider audience, he is still well-known abroad, as attested by his frequent comparison with such great writers as Pushkin, Milton, Dante, Mickiewicz, and others.Printing of The Mountain WreathMost ofThe Mountain Wreathwas written in 1846 in Cetinje, the capital of Montenegro. In October 1846 Njegos took along the manuscript on his visit to Vienna, where it was published the following year by the printers in the Armenian Mechitarist monastery. The first edition was prepared by Njegos himself and he was supposed to have overseen the printing of the book. He either did not have time or was in no mood to pay attention to every detail, however, because he had come to Vienna on an important mission: to ask the Russian government to help his country stricken by drought and threatened by famine and the Turks. Since the Russians were hesitant in allowing him to come to Russia for fear of angering the Turks, with whom they were on good terms at that time, Njegos was in no mood to devote much time to the printing of his magnum opus. It is, therefore, possible that some minor changes were made by someone else during the printing. The comparison of the only preserved manuscript (verses 1-1528) with the first edition shows differences whose authorship is difficult to ascertain.Since the first publication in 1847, there have been almost a hundred new editions, all of which adhere to the first. Njegos did not see another publication ofThe Mountain Wreathfor he died four years later. It is difficult to imagine that he would have made significant changes, however, had he lived longer. To be sure, there are changes in subsequent editions, mainly to correct obvious misprints or grammatical inconsistencies, or to conform to new orthographic rules. Thus, even though there is no official standard version ofThe Mountain Wreath, the edition of 1847 suits that definition as far as the meaning of the text is concerned, minor changes notwithstanding. This fact speaks for the unerring creative power of Njegos, who was able to write his major work in one sitting, so to speak.Textual interpretationsThe Mountain Wreathhas been translated into most modern languages, in some cases more than once (in German, Russian, Czech, and now English). The changes mentioned above and other references that are difficult to illuminate fully have led to constant interpretations ofThe Mountain Wreathby various scholars. The main interpreters are Milan Resetar, Vido Latkovic, Risto Dragicevic, and Nikola Banasevic. There are many other, less ambitious interpretations of individual passages or lines. It is safe to say that the definitive interpretation ofThe Mountain Wreathis far from being complete and that this greatest work in Serbian and South Slav literatures will keep inspiring research forever.On translating The Mountain Wreath into EnglishThe first translation ofThe Mountain Wreathinto English, by James W Wiles, was published in 1930. Wiles was a great friend of the Serbs, well acquainted with their culture having spent many years among them. He first readThe Mountain Wreathin 1913, translated it for many years, and finally consented to demands for its publication. It was until now the only English translation of this work.Wiles's translation remains a gallant effort. Only those readers who are familiar with the drama, its aphoristic thoughts, at times oblique references, and the strange beauty ofThe Mountain Wreathin the original can comprehend the difficulties of translating it into another language.Yet, his motives and gallant efforts notwithstanding, the end result of Wiles's labour was not an unmitigated success. His entire approach to the task reveals several inadequacies and fallacies, which prevented his translation from doing justice to Njegos's masterpiece. Some of these inadequacies were inherent in the circumstances under which he had to work and over which he had little or no control at all: the inevitable, at times profound differences between the Serbian and English languages; the inability of a non-native to grasp the fine literary and linguistic nuances of the original; and most certainly, some peculiarities ofThe Mountain Wreathwhich are often difficult to master even for a native (witness several interpretations by Yugoslav scholars, some of which are still unreconciled).Over other problems Wiles had better control but failed to, or chose not to, exercise it. His decision to abandon the decasyllabic meter of Njegoss verse was, no doubt, dictated by the extreme difficulty of following it strictly in English. Yet, the translator often went too far in his freedom. His verses not only fail to reproduce the ten-syllable meter ofThe Mountain Wreath, but they often show great unevenness in the number of feet per line. Sometimes one verse of Njegos is split into two.The greatest fallacy of Wiles's approach was his belief thatThe Mountain Wreathmust have sounded extremely exalted and archaic even at the time of publication in 1847. As a consequence, the translator strove consciously to recreate the elevated tone of Njegoss epic by deliberately choosing expressions that are no longer in common use:ye, dot/i, thou, thee, tliy, hast, shouldst, wilt,and so on, not to speak of expressions which may be pardonable in a poetic style but are still quite outlandish:reconipense, maw, mischance, puissant, thereto, spake, ambuscade, methinks,and so on. Such an approach leads not only to a high degree of unusualness, unbefitting a work patterned after folk poetry whose beauty lies primarily in its noble simplicity, but also to a highly stilted language and even stammering speech. One of the best illustrations of this can be found in the verseThat thus thou dost delay to us to come.To be sure, just as Shakespeare sounds somewhat archaic to the present-day English reader,The Mountain Wreathdoes at times sound somewhat antiquated to a modern ear. When it was written, however, it sounded quite natural to a contemporary reader. When such a work is translated into a modern language, for a modern reader, there is no reason why it should be translated in a language belonging to a different era. It is here that the greatest weakness of Wiles's translation lies. It is primarily this strange sounding language used by Wiles, coupled with other inadequacies, that encouraged me to undertake a new translation.While working on the translation ofThe Mountain Wreathinto English, I was faced with many of the same or similar problems and dilemmas which beset my predecessor. At the same time, there were problems which my predecessor was not aware of or, more likely, chose to ignore. It is in this area that my translation differs substantially from that of Wiles.First of all, strenuous efforts were made to be as faithful to the original as possible, without making the translation sound like one. My overwhelming awe before Njegos stifled any temptation to change his work. Such temptation has ruined many a translation, revealing in actuality a frustrated writer in the translator himself. Changes that were made are of a minor nature, dictated only by the impossibility of expressing some word phrase, or idea of Njegos's exactly the same way in English.The second important element of my approach deals with the question of how contemporary the translation ofThe Mountain Wreathshould be. As mentioned, it makes no sense to render this work in a version of a foreign language that is at least one to two hundred years old. On the contrary, the language of the translation should be just as contemporary as it was to the first reader. There is no reason, therefore, to deny to a modern reader in English the beauty, clarity, and freshness of the original.The question of form was probably the most difficult to solve. Apart from a few passages in prose, most of which are stage instructions, one brief passage in the nine-syllable meter (verses 1855-73), and the lament of Batric's sister, which is in the twelve-syllable meter (verses 1913-63), the entire work is in the decasyllabic meter (deseterac). Strenuous attempts were made to adhere strictly to the meter of the original. Blank verse, consisting of unrhymed iambic pentameter, would have offered a natural solution. Unfortunately, the meter ofThe Mountain Wreathis not iambic but, most often, trochaic, which is not indigenous to English verse. Both the iamb and the trochee, therefore, had to be abandoned. The decasyllabic meter, however, has still been preserved in all but a very few verses. At the same time, the caesura, which occurs inThe Mountain Wreathregularly after the fourth syllable, has been kept in almost all verses. The only concessions were a few "untruet' caesuras and sporadic "filler" phrases such as "indeed", "pray tellt', "surely", and so on, in order to complete the decasyllabic line: in no case was the meaning of the original compromised.In order to preserve the flavour of Njegos's masterpiece, instead of explaining or interpreting unusual metaphors, they were kept whenever possible. For example, the frequent use of the metaphor "gray falcon" for a young brave man is so beautiful that any attempt to find a similar metaphor in English would be a pale reflection of it. Similarly, the use of "doe" for a beautiful girl, as in verse 1843, is best left unchanged unless one wants to correct Njegos at his craft. Another metaphor, "the evil wind put out the holy lamp", is a good example of the author's way of expressing his religious preference in a poetic fashion; for this reason, it is best to preserve the metaphor in the form Njegos meant it.In selecting words, I have often refrained from long or "intellectual" words; instead, simpler, one-to-two syllable words, the so-called Celtic words, were used, not only because they are more direct and more powerful poetically, but also because they correspond more closely to Njegos's folk-imitating speech. Thus, for example, the Serbian word "Podosmo" (verse 2607) is translated as "set out" rather than "departed" or "journeyed"; and "pocine" (verse 1873) is rendered as "rests" rather than "reposes" or "reclines."Many more short sentences were used in translation than one finds in Njegos. It is quite common in a Serbian text to find two or more independent clauses in the same sentence, separated by a comma; such practice is not tolerated in English. For this reason punctuation frequently had to be changed. Fortunately, these and other changes in punctuation did not alter the meaning of the original at all.At times an inversion of phrases or clauses within a verse or of verses themselves was necessary in order to produce a smoother reading in English. The inversion of entire verses was mostly of adjacent ones (for example, verses 487-88, 597-98, 827-28, 1153-54, 2150-51, and so on). At times it was necessary to invert verses separated by two and even more lines (verses 668-72, 927-29, 2212-14, 2601-03, and so on). On some occasions enjambment was used (verses 772-73, 971-72, 1476-77, 2294-95, and so on), although it seldom occurs inThe Mountain Wreath. The tense sequence was kept uniform within passages. In Serbian the switching from one tense to another, usually from the past to the present, is done with abandon, often in the same paragraph; no such switching is possible in English. The best examples of this are found in verses 998-1005 and 1299-1304. Finally, there is little rhyming inThe Mountain Wreathexcept in the Dedication poem and in a few other verses. Rhyming was completely abandoned in the translation simply because it would have necessitated many deviations from the original.As for the many difficult passages, phrases, and references inThe Mountain Wreath, I have relied for the most part on the interpretations of Professor Nikola Banasevic in his commentaries for its latest edition (Belgrade: Srpska knjizevna zadruga, 1973). He has, in turn, made a compendium of all previous commentaries. When an interpretation was still in doubt, I have tended to side with Professor Banasevic.All these problems and their attempted solutions have undoubtedly resulted in a certain loss of poetic quality in this translation ofThe Mountain Wreath.This is inevitable in any translation that strives to be faithful to the author and his work, especially if that work is a poetic one. In addition to this general circumstance, there is something in the nature of Serbian sounds and the way in which syllables are formed that causes a loss of poetic quality in translation. Serbian sounds, especially those of vowels, are both shorter and clearer than in English. Syllables are usually made through regular interchange of vowels and consonants, producing a much greater musical effect than in English.It is therefore not surprising that neither James W Wiles nor myself have completely succeeded in reproducing the artistic and musical quality of Njegos's work, as is evidenced by the translation of the above verses. What we have accomplished, I believe, are decent renderings of this beautiful but difficult work.It is not my intention to pass judgment on the merits of the two translations - the reader should be the judge. Nor do I wish to denigrate Wiles's translation, which, as stated at the beginning, still deserves our respect and gratitude. I myself have used it for comparison and have borrowed a few lines that cannot be improved upon. There are, however, only a few identical lines.A literary work of the magnitude ofThe Mountain Wreathdeserves to be translated in, by, and for every generation. It is my hope that this is the translation for the second half of the twentieth century.***I would like to express my gratitude to the University of North Carolina Research Council and to Bonnie Carey for their generous assistance as well as to Professor Vujadin Milanovic from the University of Belgrade for his suggestions for better English rendering of quite a number of lines in this edition and for making this bilingual edition splendid as it is.Vasa D. Mihailovich

Petar II Petrovic NjegosThe Mountain WreathTranslated into English by Vasa D. Mihailovich

ContentsDEDICATED TO THE ASHES OF THE FATHER OF SERBIADRAMATIS PERSONAEA MEETING ON THE EVE OF WHITSUNTIDE ON THE MOUNT LOVCENAN ASSEMBLY AT CETINJE ON THE DAY OF THE NATIVITY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY, CONVENED WITH THE PURPOSE OF RECONCILING SOME LEADERSCHRISTMAS EVENEW YEAR'S DAYTranslator's Commentary

DEDICATED TO THE ASHES OF THE FATHER OF SERBIA[1]Let this century of ours be the pride of all the centuries,It shall be a fateful era striking awe for generations.In this century eight children were born as if from the same womb;from the cradle of Bellona[2]they made their appearance on earth:Napoleon; Charles[3]; Blucher[4]; the Duke of Wellington[5], and Suvorov[6];Karageorge, the scourge of tyrants; Schwarzenberg[7]and Kutuzov[8], too.Ares[9], the horror of the earth, made them drunk with martial gloryand gave them the earth's arena in which to fight one another.It is not hard for a lion to come forth from a spacious bush.The nest of genius is built only among greater nations.There, above all, he finds the stuff needed for his deeds of gloryand a proud garland of triumph to adorn the hero's bold head[10].But the hero of Topola[11], the great, immortal Karageorge,saw many hurdles in his way, yet he reached his grandiose goal.He roused people, christened the land,[12]and broke the barbarous fetters,summoned the Serbs back from the dead, and breathed life into their souls.He is the Immortal's secret: he gave the Serbs the chests of steeland awakened the lion's heart in those who had lost their courage.The bands of the Eastern Pharaoh[13]turn to ice in fear before George[14].Through George the Serbian hearts and arms were instilled with high bravery!Stamboul, the bloodthirsty father of the plague, trembles before him,even the Turks swear by his sabre - no other oath have they indeed.[15]------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Yes, a hero's life is always haunted by a tragic ending.It was destiny that your head had to pay the price for its wreath![16]------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Later generations judge deeds and give to all what they deserve.Everybody's curse falls on people like Boris[17]and Vukasin[18].The disgusting name of Piso[19]must not blemish the calendar.Orestes'[20]justice comes like the bolt from heaven to Aegisthus[21].------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Mean envy vomits forth darkness upon your illustrious grave,but who can put out the powerful, celestial light of your soul?Miserable, ugly darkness - can it dim the glow of such light?Darkness hides from the light, and yet it only makes the light more bright[22].The life-giving flame of your torch will shine for the Serb forever,and it will grow more luminous and miraculous for ages.Serbian women used to give birth to Dusan[23]and nurse Obilic[24],and now Serbian women give birth to such heroes as Pozarski[25],all wonderful and noble men! Serbdom breathes nobility now.Away from the Serbs, you vile curse - the Serbs have now fulfilled their vow![26]Vienna, New Year's Day. 1847 The AuthorTHE MOUNTAIN WREATHDRAMATIS PERSONAEBISHOP DANILOABBOT STEFANJANKO DJURASKOVIC, SirdarRADONJAVUKOTAIVAN PETROVICKNEZ RADE, brother of Bishop DaniloKNEZ BAJKOKNEZ ROGANKNEZ JANKOKNEZ NIKOLAVOIVODE DRASKOVOIVODE MILIJAVOIVODE STANKO (Ljub.)VOIVODE BATRICTOMAS MARTINOVICOBRADVUK RASLAPCEVICVUKOTA MRVALJEVICVUK TOMANOVICMANY VOICESBOGDAN DJURASKOVICVUK MICUNOVICVUK MANDUSICVUK LJESEVOSTUPACPOP MICOTHE SISTER OF BATRICHADJI-ALI MEDOVIC, KadiSKENDER-AGAMUSTAI-KADIARSIAN-AGA MUHADINOVICFERAT ZACIR, Kavaz-bashaRIDZAL OSMANAN OLD WOMAN

The persons not mentioned in poet's DRAMATIS PERSONAE list:Vuk Markovic, a Cuca, a soldier, a second soldier,a Montenegrin wedding guest, a Turkish wedding guest, the student, students

A MEETING ON THE EVE OF WHITSUNTIDE ON THE MOUNT LOVCEN[27]It is the dead of night. Everyone is asleep.BISHOP DANILO(talking to himself)Lo the devil[28]with seven scarlet cloaks,with two swords and with two crowns on his head,the great-grandchild of the Turk, with Koran!Behind him hordes of that accursed litter,march to lay waste to the whole planet Earth,just as locusts devastate the green fields.If the French dike had not stood in the way,the Arab sea would have flooded it all![29]Osman[30]was crowned in an infernal dreamand given the half-moon like an apple.Orkan![31]What an evil guest in Europe!Now Byzantium is indeed nothing buta dowry of youthful Theodora;[31]the star of doom still hovers over it.Upon Murat[32]Paleologos[32]callsto bury both Greeks and Serbs together.Brankovic[33]and Gerluka[34]want the same.Thanks, Mohammad,[34]for hanging Gerluka!Besides Asia, where their nest is hidden,the devil's tribe gobled up the nations -one every day, as an owl gulps a bird:Murat Serbia, and Bajazet Bosnia,Mohammed Greece and Murat Epirus,the two Selims Cyprus and Africa.Each took something, nothing was left over;it is dreadful to hear what's happening.World is too small for the devil's large mawto eat his full, let alone overeat![35]Janko defends the dead King Wladislaw;[36]but why do so when he failed to save him?In Skenderbeg[37]beats Obilic's heart,but he perished as a forlorn exile.What can I do? Who is there to help me?There are few hands and all too little strength.I'am a lone straw tossing in the whirlwind,a sad orphan without friend or kinfolk.My people sleep a deep and lifeless sleep;no parent's hand to wipe away my tears.Above my head the heaven is shut tight;it does not hear my cries or my prayers.The world has now become a hell for me,people have turned into hellish spirits.O my dark day! O my black destiny!O my wretched Serbian nation snuffed out!I have outlived many of your troubles,yet I must fight against the worst of all![38]Yes, when the head on a body is smashed,the limbs die out in frightful agony.Plague of mankind, may God's wrath be on you!Is half a world you've already poisonedwith your mean deeds not large enough for you,that you had to spew out all the venomof your black soul on this hard rock as well?[39]Is Serbia from the Danube Riverto the blue sea too small an offering?You rule the throne you've unjustly taken[40]and are prideful of your bloody scepter;you insult God from the holy altar,a mosque rises where the broken Cross lies.[41]Why do you want to poison its shadow,which people took to the mountain sheltersfor their lasting pride and consolation,to remind them of their heroic past?It is washed in blood so many times over,a hundred times in yours, as oft in ours!Behold the work of that wicked monarch,[42]whom the devil teaches all kinds of things:"Montenegro I cannot win or tame,nor call it mine in any real sense;this is how one should deal with its people."And so began the devil's Messiah[43]to offer them sweetmeats of his false faith.May God strike you, loathsome degenerates,[44]why do we need the Turk's faith among us?What will you do with your ancestors' curse?[45]With what will you appear before Milos[46]and before all other Serbian heroes,whose names will live as long as the sun shines?When I think of today's council meeting,[47]flames of horror flare up deep inside me.A brother will slaughter his own brother,and the arch-foe, so strong and so evil,will destroy e'en the seed within mothers.O wretched day, may God's curse be on you!when you brought me to the light of this world.A hundred times I've cursed that hour last yearwhen the Turks failed, or didn't want, to kill me;my people's hopes I would not betray now.[48]Vuk Micunovic lies near the Bishop. He is pretending to sleep but can hear everything very wellVUK MICUNOVICDon't, my Bishop, if you have faith in God!What misfortune has come over you nowthat you do wail like some sad cuckoo-birdand drown yourself in our Serbian troubles?Is today not a festive occasionon which you have gathered Montenegrinsto cleanse our land of loathsome infidels?Besides, this is ourslavaholiday[49]on which our best and noblest lads gatherto test their strength and their abilities,the strength of arms, and fleetness of their feet,to vie also in the target-shooting,to cleave the roast ram's shoulder in wager,to hear also the liturgy in church,dance thekolo[50]all around the churchyard,and thrust their chests in knightly exercise.To all brave men that is a holy incense,making youthful hearts as strong as iron!Banish, Bishop, such dark and gloomy thoughts!Men bravely bear, wailing is for women.A timid chief has no business ruling!You are not left just to your resources.Do you not see these five hundred brave lads?What marvels of strength and fleet-footednesshave we not seen here among them today?Did you see how they were target-shooting,how skilfully they played the game ofgrad,[51]and how nimbly they did grab the small caps?[52]As wolf-cubs start to follow their mother,so they begin playfully to sharpentheir dreaded teeth upon each other's throats.[53]As soon as the falcon grows his first plumes,[53]he cannot be peaceful any longer.Instead, his nest he keeps rearranging,Grabbing the straws one after another,he flies shrieking toward the light blue sky,In this there is a lesson to be learned.Beside the youths present here around you,there are six times as many back at home.Their strength, Bishop, is surely your strength too.Before the Turks will have conquered them all,many a wife of the Turk will wear black.Our struggle won't come to an end untilwe or the Turks are exterminated.What right to hope has anyone of usexcept in God and in our own two hands.The hope we had was buried foreverin one large tomb at the Kosovo Field.[54]When things go well, 'tis easy to be good;adversity shows who is the hero.Crosses have been carried from Lovcen to the hill above the Crkvine.Men are sitting on the hill, shooting and counting the echoes of each shot.SIRDAR JANKO DJURASKOVICWhat a fine gun, worth a human head!Every one of our guns echoes six times,but dzeferdar[55]of Vuk Tomanovickeeps echoing nine times of equal strengthSIRDAR RADONJAMontenegrins, do you see this wonder?Fifty full years I've spun of my life's yarn.I've always spent my summers on Lovcenand have clambered up to this high summit.Hundreds of times I have gazed at the cloudssailing in flocks from the sea down yonderand covering this entire mountain range.I've watched them float and rush now here, now therewith lightning bolts and with mighty rumbleand with the roar of terrible thunder.Hundreds of times I have rested up here,warming myself in the sun peacefully.I've watched often the lightning beneath me,listened to the thunder rending the sky,as in the din of the frightening hailthe clouds below make everything barren-but this wonder I have yet to witness!Do you notice, upon your faith in God,how much there is of the sea and the coast,of proud Bosnia and Hercegovina,Albania way down there by the sea,how much there is of our Montenegro?The clouds cover all these lands evenly!The thunder's roar can be heard all around,all beneath us the lightning keeps flashing,but we alone are lying in the sun.It has become rather hot up here now,since the top of this mountain's always cool.OBRADDid you see this miracle and omenwhen two flashes made a cross in the sky?One flash came from Kom[56]straight on to Lovcen;the other flashed from Skadar[57]to Ostrog[58].They formed a cross made out of living fire.How lovely it is just to look at it!Never before in this wide world of ourshas someone heard or seen such a cross.God, help us Serbs in all our misfortune;this, too, must be a good omen for us!VUK RASLAPCEVICWhat do you aim at with your gun, Drasko?VOIVODE DRASKOI want to kill one of the cuckoo-birds,but I don't want to waste a single cartridge.VUK RASLAPCEVICPlease don't do that, Drasko, upon your life!It isn't proper to kill a cuckoo-bird.Do you not know, may the devil take you,that cuckoos are the daughters of Lazar?[59]A great commotion arises above the Crkvine,on the northern side above the lake.SIRDAR VUKOTAWhat's this clamour? What is troubling you now?So help me God, you are worse than children!VUKOTA MRVALJEVICStraight at us flew a flock of partridgesand we captured each one of them alive.The great uproar arose for that reason.EVERYONE SHOUTS AT THE TOP OF HIS VOICE:Let them all go, may God's grace be with you,because trouble has driven them our way;you wouldn't have caught one of them otherwise.They've fled to you only to find shelter,and surely not for you to slaughter them.They let the partridges fly away and returned with crossesto the place they had taken them from.AN ASSEMBLY AT CETINJE ON THE DAY OF THE NATIVITY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY, CONVENED WITH THE PURPOSE OF RECONCILING SOME LEADERSThe leaders are standing by while the people are dancing thekolo.KOLO[50]God is angry with the Serbian peoplebecause of their many mortal sins.Our kings and tsars trampled upon the Law[60].They began to fight each other fiercelyand to gouge out each other's very eyes.They neglected the government and stateand chose folly to be their guiding light.Their servants ceased to obey their mastersand washed themselves in the blood of their tsars.Our own leaders, God's curse be on their souls,carved the empire into little piecesand sapped the strength of the Serbs wantonly.Our own leaders, may all their trace vanish,sowed the bitter seed of disharmonyand thus poisoned the entire Serbian tribe.Our own leaders, miserable cowards,thus became the traitors of our nation.O that accursed supper of Kosovo![61]It would have been better had you poisonedall our chieftains and wiped out their traces,and left Milos standing there on the field,along with both of his true sworn brothers;[62]then would the Serb have remained a true Serb!Vuk Brankovic,[63]O you shameful scoundrel,was that the way to serve your fatherland?Was that the way to uphold honesty?O you, Milos, who does not envy you?You are the victim of your noble feelings,you, a mighty military genius,a terrific thunder that shatters crowns!The greatness of your noble knightly soulsurpasses the immortal, valiant deedsof great Sparta and of powerful Rome.All their brilliant courageous endeavoursyour knightly arm places in deep shadow.Leonidas[64]and Scaevola,[65]can theymatch Obilic on any battlefield?His powerful arm with a single blowtoppled a throne and shook all Tartarus.[66]The wonder of all valiant knights, Milos,fell victim at the throne of the world's scourge.So lies proudly the magnificent duke,bathed in the spirts of his noble blood,just as he walked proudly a while agoamong the hordes of the savage Asians,his chest heaving with a fearsome thought,devouring them all with his fiery eyesjust as he walked proudly a while agoto a sacred grave of immortal life,showing disdain for human worthlessnessand the intrigues of the mad assembly.[67]God is angry with the Serbian people.A dragon with seven heads[68]has appearedand devoured the entire Serbian nation,the slanderers as well as the slander.[69]On the ruins of the heroic empireMilos shone forth with his holy justice.Made immortal and crowned was the glory of both the true sworn brothers of Milosand the lovely wreath of Jugovics.[70]The Serbian name has perished everywhere.Mighty lions have become meek peasants.Rash and greedy converted to Islam -- may their Serb milk make them all sick with plague!Those who escaped before the Turkish sword,those who did not blaspheme at the True Faith,those who refused to be thrown into chains,took refuge here in these lofty mountainsto shed their blood together and to die,heroically to keep the sacredoath, their lovely name, and their holy freedom.Our heads withstood the hard test in battles!Our brave lads have shone like the radiant stars.Those who were born in these lofty mountainsfell day by day in the past's bloody warsand gave their life for honour, name, and freedom.All of our tears were always wiped awayby the deft sounds of the lovelygusle.[71]Sacrifices have not been made in vainsince our hard land has now truly becomeof Turkish might the insatiable tomb.What is the cause that for quite some time nowour native hills are shrouded in silenceand no longer echo with warlike cries?Our idle arms are all covered with rust.Our land has been left without its leaders.The high mountains are reeking with heathens.In the same fold are both wolves and sheep,and Turk is one with Montenegrin now.Hodjabellows on the plain Cetinje![72]A stench has caught the lion in the trap,[73]wiped out is now the Montenegrin name,no one crosses himself with three fingers.VOIVODE MILIJADo you hear thekolodancers singing?And all that has been set forth in their songcomes from the minds of the entire people.And good reason have the Montenegrinsto bury us under a hail of stones.We do not dare to begin any workthat would spur folks to some heroic deeds,warm the sacred bones of our forefathers,and make them dance in the grave joyfully.Instead we keep cackling something like geese.Strike the devil and leave of him no trace,or relinquish this world and the next, too!VOIVODE STANKO (LJUBOTINJANIN)You are quite right, Voivode Milija!May God remove all the trace of our raceif we should live in cowardice and disgrace!Why the devil in Christian land of ours?Why do we feed a snake in our bosom?In great God's name, what kind of brothers theywho dishonour the Montenegrin faceand spit on the holy Cross openly?SIRDAR IVANWhy is it that they have not arrived yet,our border folks, the good Ozrinics?[74]For without them there can be no business.All together, we can work much better.VOIVODE MILIJAThey have gone to a meeting with some Turksto talk about the prisoners' exchange.I sent to them an envoy with messageto hasten here as soon as they return,to hurry up so that we waste no time,for this business stands no further delay.The Ozrinics arrive.VUK TOMANOVICWhy, for God's sake, are you so late, brothers?Waiting for you we almost perished here.Food in our bags has almost disappeared,tobacco in our pouches has gone.I sprained my neck looking across the field,waiting for you to make your appearance.SIRDAR VUKOTAWe did hurry to come here earlier,but we could not make it any faster:Our Pecirep and the old Baletagathered about twenty to thirty ladsand to Duga[75]went with the company,to wait for the caravan from Niksic.[76]On the highway they ambushed the Turks there,fourteen of them they cut down in battleand seventy horses captured from them,along with two or three of their women.Then a dispatch came to us from Niksic,offering us ten new swornbrotherhoods,[77]asking us to meet them at Poljane[78]to return their prisoners for ransom.Se we went to the meeting with the Turks,and that is why we are a little late.KNEZ BAJKOWhat did Hamza[79]and the Niksics say?Was it that they desire so ferventlyto graze their stock in peace at Rudine?[80]SIRDAR VUKOTAYou know, Bajko, that it was indeed so.No one has fled from good things in life yet.Why should the Turks not desire the good thing,that of grazing their flocks of sheep in peace?KNEZ ROGANDid you argue with each other alsoabout prisoners or other affairs?KNEZ JANKOIt's true, Rogan, there was much quarreling.Do you not know the Turks of Niksic town?We just about flew at each other's throats.Generations would tell one anotherthe tale of our bloody get-together.VUK MARKOVICAnd why was it that you had to quarrel?Who was the first to upset the meeting?KNEZ JANKOAt the outset it was as in a joke.Vuk Mandusic and Vuk Micunovicbegan to talk with Hamza the Captainfor and against each other's religion.Suddenly the talk turned thick and heavy,and they exchanged several bitter words.Then Hamza said to Vuk Micunovic:'I am better than you. - Do you hear, Vlach?[81]And my faith is much better than your faith!I ride a horse and carry a sharp sword.I am captain of an imperial town,[82]which we have ruled for full three hundred years.My grandfather had won it by his sword,when empire was divided by the sword,and the town was left to his heirs to rule."This fired up our Vuk Micunovicand he came up closer to the Captain:"You call me 'Vlach', you swinish renegade?How can a traitor be better than a knight?What is this talk of 'sword' and 'Kosovo'?Weren't we both on the Field of Kosovo?I fought then and I am still fighting now,you were traitor then and you are one now.You've dishonoured yourself before the world,blasphemed the faith of your own ancestors.You have enslaved yourself to foreigners!As for your boast about your town and rule -haven't I with marble stones[83]embellishedall Turkish towns in our vicinity,so that they are no more fit for peoplebut are prisons for unhappy captives?I am a scourge of God always readyto bring to mind the evil you have wrought."MANY VOICESMicunovic' talks as well as he acts!Serbian woman has never born his like,since Kosovo or even before it!KNEZ JANKOI have not yet mentioned the real reasonfor our coming to blows at the meeting. -We reconciled Vuk with Captain Hamza.As you well know, the youths of Ozrinicsalways make jokes wherever they may go.The mad devil had brought to the meetingan oldhodjaby the name Bruncevic,who had with him some kind of short carbineof an arm's length, perhaps a bit shorter.He had the gun slung over his shoulder,strutting proudly up and down the field,together with the rest of his people.One of our youths then from us slipped away,passed thehodjasideways as if by chance,and stuck a horn over an elbow longin the barrel of his upright carbine.Oh, my dear Lord! three hundred of our ladsfell to the ground splitting their sides laughing!But thehodjawondered as he struttedwhat might have come over all these people,until he saw the horn in his carbine.Our mood became quite dark and threatening.Soon we clashed and fire shot forth from our guns.Fifteen stretchers were made ready quickly -six for our men, nine for men of theirs.BOGDAN DJURASKOVICIt's time for us to gather together.It's time to come to some firm decisions.The word has spread about our intentions.When our heathen brethren hear about it,they won't waste time and drag on as we do.SIRDAR RADONJAEach one has come who should be here with us,except for the five Martinovics.Very likely they've met with some trouble;yet without them, we can do so little.KNEZ BAJKOCome on, people, let's tend to our business,or else let each return to his own home,lest our children should be laughing at us;and let each one cope with the Turks alone.I myself know what to do should they come.But here we're like the mice in the fable[84]who wanted to hang a bell on the cat.The Martinovics arriveVUK MICUNOVICYou're here, at last! We've waited long enough!We are, brothers, getting all togetherlike drunk wedding guests, as the story goes.[85]But you should be especially ashamedsince you had the shortest road to travel.TOMAS MARTINOVICDo not blame us, Vuk and other brothers!We would have come to the meeting sooner,but ill fortune came to us on our way;for that reason we are a bit tardy.KNEZ ROGANHas wine perhaps caused the guests to quarrel?After all, this is your patron saint's day.[86]TOMAS MARTINOVICNo, there was no quarrel among the guests;the Turks captured one of our own women.VUK MICUNOVICSay, what woman? Sure, you must be joking?Please go ahead and tell us what happened.And don't worry, everyone will listen.Everyone likes to listen to such tales.TOMAS MARTINOVICI will tell you 'bout that devil's business.We were dancing the kolo with our guestsand passing round the jug of ruby wine,when suddenly, above the Piste stream,[87]a shot rang out, a man began to shout,"Who is a knight and a brave fighter, hear!Montenegrins have been led off for slaves!"At that message we all laughed heartily:Captives in the heart of Montenegro?He's drunk and thinks he's singing, we reckoned.Two shots rang out one after the other:Bang - bang - again echoed without a pause,and the same man kept shouting as before.That cannot be without serious trouble!We grabbed our guns and started off to run.When we got there, there was a sight to see:Mujo Alic, the Turkish chief of guards,had run away with Ruza, Kasan's wife,and fled with her and his youngest brother.More than a year, perhaps, it has been nowsince those two had put their heads together,but who would dare even to imaginea Serbian woman marrying a Turk?KNEZ ROGANA woman's mood is a funny business!A woman cares not about a man's faith.A hundred times she would change religionto accomplish what her heart desires.TOMAS MARTINOVICBut I have not told you the whole story.Eternal woe may be unto that soulwho caused Ruza such a great misfortune,who gave Ruza in marriage to Kasan,and locked up a fairy in a prison,for Kasan is such a lowly coward.Listen to me, my dear Montenegrins!Had she run off with any Serbian man,may all my trace be wiped out foreverif I had then so much as turned my head,no matter how painful it were to me.But when I heard she had gone with a Turk,we could wait and put it off no longer:we decided to go and pursue them.At Simunja[88]we found the wedding guests.We killed both Alic brothers right there,with them, alas, the unlucky bride, too.Because of that we've besmirched our honourand lost our grace with the Almighty God.KNEZ JANKOOh, my dear Lord, what a strange assembly!Would our children act and behave like this?We dare not do what we are yet doing,and not announce what everybody knows.[89]We are loading these thoughts upon ourselvesas if to think were all we have to do,as if we didn't know what is to be done.Whenever I have spent much time thinking,my work has lagged always too far behind.Those who delay never find the right way.Bishop Danilo, seeing that evepyone has gathered,comes out among them, too.VUK MICUNOVICDon't hold us back any longer, Bishop.but rather send these people on their way.All wait to hear what you have to say now,but you have lost yourself in gloomy thoughts.You neither speak nor send us on our way.Your face mirrors the colour of the earth.Alone you pace up and down on the field.You do not eat, nor can you fall asleep.Oppressive thoughts are crowding in your mind -your dreams always circle around the Turk -but I do fear too much contemplation.BISHOP DANILONow, listen, Vuk and my other brothers!Do not wonder at what you see in me,that dark thoughts are tearing my soul apartand that my chest is heaving with horror.Who stands on a hill, even a small one,sees more than he who stands below the hill.Some things I see more clearly than you do. -That is either for the good or the bad.I fear them not, this brood of the devil,may they be as many as forest leaves,but I do fear the evil at our home.Some wild kinsmen of ours have turned Turkish.If we should strike at our domestic Turks,their Serbian kin would never desert them.Our land would be divided into tribes,and tribes would start a bitter, bloody feud.Satan would come to the demon's wedding,and thus snuff out the Serbslava'scandle.One bears evil for fear of greater one!The drowning man clutches even at foamand by instinct reaches over his head.KNEZ RADE(brother of the Bishop)Why soot your hands if you don't want to forge?Why this meeting if you're afraid to speak?Once you escaped the Turkish impalement;you should've rotted on their gallows instead![90]You mourn something, but you do not know what.Some Turks you fight, others you treat like friendsin vain hopes of placating your own Turks.But just the same, do not deceive yourself!Should they ever catch you again, brother,they'd cut off your head that very instant,or they would tie your hands behind your backand torture you then to their hearts' delight.Birds of the same feather flock together!Turks are always brothers to each other.Strike while you're still able to swing your arm,and feel sorry for nothing in the world.Everything has gone the devil's way.Of Mohammed our entire country reeks.VOIVODE BATRIC(to Knez Rade)You're right, Knez, but you have gone too far.You could have said all that but more gently,without rubbing the salt in Bishop's woundsand poisoning him with bitter sadness.All are silent, hardly breathing.KOLONo one has yet drunk a cup of honeywithout mixing it with a cup of gall.A cup of gall needs a cup of honey;they are swallowed the easiest when mixed.Beg Ivan-beg,[91]a scion of heroes,against the Turks he fought like a lionall over these bloodied hills and mountains.Half of his lands the Turks did take from him,but not before soaking it with our bloodand not before killing his one brother,the fierce dragon, bold Voivode Uros,[92]in a fight on the broad Cemovo field.Ivan mourned his only brother Uros.He mourned more him, the Voivode Uros,than he would mourn the loss of his two sons.Indeed, he mourned Voivode Uros morethan all the land he had lost to the Turks.Indeed, he mourned Voivode Uros morethan he would mourn the loss of his own eyes.Yes, he would give both his eyes for Uros!Many a time the cloudless sky would laughat a hero with a roaring laughter.Ivan raised and drank the toast of revenge,a holy drink consecrated by God.Down his shoulders he let his white hair fall.His long white beard was curled down to his waist.In his old hands he held his sword and spear,and his hands and weapons became bloody.Counting Turkish corpses with his footsteps,the old man bounced like a nimble youngster.O my dear Lord, it sure must be a dreamthat the old man was jumping up so high?His old fortune has been resurrected:in Karuce,[93]upon Crmnica's end,of a whole band of fifteen thousand Turksnot one of them was allowed to escape.Their marble tombs, which can still be seen there,hail the glory of Knez Crnojevic.God grant mercy to the soul of Uros!Great offerings were made in his honour.[94]VUK MICUNOVICWithout effort no great song can be sung;without effort no saber can be forged!Bravery is the lord of all evil,as well as the drink most sweet to the soul;generations make themselves drunk with it.Blessed is he whose name lives forever.A good reason had he to be alive!A lasting torch in the lasting darknessneither burns out nor loses its bright light.BISHOP DANILO(among them, as if alone)There where a seed has first begun to sprout,There it should find its rest and bear its fruit.Is it instinct or spiritual guidance?It is here that all human knowledge fails.Just as a wolf has the right to his sheep,so has every tyrant to a weakling.To place foot upon tyrany's neck,to lead tyrants to knowledge of the right,this is the most sacred of man's duties!If you lay a kiss on a bloody swordand sail across the turbid waves of night,the memory of you deserves to live.Europe's cleric from his holy altarscoffs and spits at the altar of Asia.[95]The heavy club of Asia ravagesthe holy shrines in Crucifix' shadow.The blood of the just smokes at the altars,broken relics here are turning to dust.The earth groans, but the heavens are silent!Awesome symbols, the Crescent and the Cross;[96]their kingdoms are the realms of graveyards.Following them down the bloody river,sailing in the small boat of great sorrows,we must honour the one or the other.But blasphemy against the old relicsthat have nourished us like milk since childhoodenkindles fires of hell within my chest.A smooth sapling has no need for a knot.So why, then, does the Crescent mar the Cross?Why this gray screen on the sun's white pupil?O my True Faith, my poor, helpless orphan!Ill-fated tribe! O how long will you sleep?To be alone is not being at all,loneliness brings only more suffering.The devil's might has surrounded us all.If in the world somewhere we had brothers,their sympathy would be the same as help.Darkness now rules supreme over my head,and the moon seems to be my only sun.[97]But woe, where do I think I am going?Ripen, young wheat and corn, into the grain!Your harvest has arrived before its time.I see precious offerings piled up highat the altar of our Church and nation.Wailing echoes I hear in the mountains.We must uphold our honour and our name!Let the struggle go on without respite.Let it be what men thought could never be.Let Hell devour, let Satan cut us down!Flowers will sprout and grow in our graveyardsfor some distant future generation.SIRDAR VUKOTAGod be with us, He and all His angels!But here you are sailing hard - O Bishop,into confused and very troubled winds,like the witch who stalks in the month of Marchor the wizard in the gloomy Autumn.The Bishop starts, as if from a dream.BISHOP DANILOLet those who bear the honour-studded armsand those who hear the heart beat in their cheststrike for the Cross and for heroic name!We should baptize with water or with bloodthose blasphemers of Christ's glorious name.Let's drive the plague out of our sheephouses!Let songs ring forth, songs of all these horrors.On blood-stained stones let the true altar rise.All leaders jump to their feet, aud there is a great commotion:It is so, and no other way!BISHOP DANILONo ... no ... sit down. Let us talk it over!If we agree, my brothers, I would liketo invite the leaders of the convertsto a meeting of all of our brothers,we'll guarantee their lives until they leave.Perhaps they will return then to our faithand extinguish the flame of our blood-feud.SIRDAR JANKOAll right, Bishop. Let us try that, also.So help me God! It will be in vain, though.He who has been nurtured by the devilwill abide him faithful and forever.They'll come to us even without our pledgeand start giving themselves airs before us.Judging by the conceit of those chieftains,they see themselves as the Sultan's true sons!Three or four men are sent to invite the Turkish chieftains to a meeting.THEKOLOSINGS:A bitter curse fell on the renegades.[98]A mother cursed her own unworthy son,and so Mara, the princess and the wifeof Ivan-beg, cursed her son Stanisa.He bit her breast while nourishing himselfand spilled the drink of Eden on her chest.The parent's curse caught up with the children.All his honour lost her son Stanisaby blaspheming at the true Christian faithand at the brave, proud tribe of Crnoje,[99]He clad himself in the enemy's faithand grew thirsty for blood of his brothers.A din arose above the Ljesko field![100]Two brothers fought over their faith fiercely,together with thousands of warriors!The mother's curse thus fell upon her son,and massacred was his entire army.Stanko ran off headlong to Bajazet,[101]to eat with him Hungarian noses.[102]o lofty nest of heroic freedom,[103]God's eye has kept guard over you often.What suffering you have had to endure!What victories are still in store for you!About seven or eight Turkish chieftains come and sit down with the Montenegnns. They are silent and keep looking at their feet.KNEZ JANKOFor heaven's sake, why have you turned to stone?Why don't you start to talk to each other?You let yourselves be lulled to sleep instead.HADJI-ALI MEDOVIC, KADIThose are right words, for sure, Knez Ozrinic!If no one will, I will begin to speak.Gathered here now are one hundred chieftains,both Turkish and Montenegrin chieftains.I know full well why we've been assembled:to make a peace between our blood brothers.Listen to me, you chieftains of the land,let's try to find a way among ourselvesto reconcile two warring familiesof Ceklici[104]and of Velestovo,[105]then Bajice and the clan of Alic.Let us all try to bring a peace to them,let's offer them at least our pledge for peace.I'll be the first to go with thekumas[106]and compensate for life that's been taken.Let us make peace, cut thedinarin two,[107]and hang our guns all bloodied on the wall!KNEZ ROGANYou, Effendi, clearly failed to divinethe reason for our getting together,and you started therefore from the wrong end.Yet you are wise and a writer, they say.You attended the school in Istanbuland paid visit to some sort of Mecca,yet more wisdom you're surely in need of.This school of ours is harder to master.Again everyone is silent, looking down at the ground.BISHOP DANILODear Lord, You who rule the whole universe,You who reside on Your heavenly throneand ignite with Your all-powerful glanceeach bright body in the whole universe;You who have set in motion the fine dustunder Your throne, shiny and translucent,and proclamed it to be Your many worlds;You who gave life to every speck of dustand sowed in it the seed of intellect;You who maintain the Book of Creation,in which are writ the fates and destiniesof the whole world and intelligent stuff;You who have so graciously decidedto give power to the agile bodiesof the tiny ant and the proud lion, -send cheering light over Montenegro,remove from it the lightning and thunder,the turbulent and hail-carrying clouds!It may not be the turncoats' fault as much.The infidel enticed them with falsehoodand entangled them in the devil's nets.But what is man? In truth, a weak creature!The Turks look at each other fiirtivelyHoney is sweet even to cold, aged lips,let alone to youthful, passionate ones!The bait was sweet but attached to a hook:"Drink sweet sherbet from the Prophet's cupor expect his axe blow between your ears!"The fear in life often stains one's honour.[108]Our weaknesses bind us down to the earth;though slight the bond, it may yet firmly bind.The light that shines in the eye of the fox[109]terrifies birds, the weakest of creatures,yet the fox looks at the eagle in fear.News of the death of a brother or sonstrengthens threefold our affection for them;sweeter to find the lost than ne'er to lose.After a storm the sky becomes clearer,after sorrow the soul is more serene,and after tears the song is more joyous.Oh, that these eyes of mine could only seeMontenegro regain what it has lost!It would then seem to me indeed as ifTsar Lazar's crown is shining on me nowand that Milos had returned to the Serbs.My soul would be truly contented thenlike a peaceful morning in the springtime,when the sea winds and even the dark cloudsslumber upon the bosom of the sea.The Turks look at one another gloomilySKENDER-AGAIn the name of my fair faith, I wonderwhat reproach there you are making, Bishop!Have you e'er seen a cup to hold two drinks,or seen a cap to fit two heads at once?A small brook runs into a larger stream,on emptying, it loses its own name;at the seashore both lose identity.Are you trying to catch bees in your capand with it start a beehive in the woods?From such beehive no one will eat honey!You are pushing a stone up hill in vain!An old tree breaks before it is straightened!Animals are very much like people.Each living sort has its own character.I don't ask 'bout the hen and the eagle,but does, pray tell, a lion fear a goose?KNEZ ROGANI marvel at this strange business also.The priest questions the sinner 'bout his sins,whether Satan has a firm hold on him,but I have yet to witness the devilgo to the priest to make a confession!KNEZ JANKOWhen my wife asks where I have been today,I will tell her that I've been sowing salt.[110]And woe to her if she does not believe!KNEZ BAJKONow I remember that well-known story[111]of the devil who was pulled from the pit:half of his face was black, the other white.OBRADA fly just flew straight into my nostril.[112]Some misfortune will surely come my way.VUK RASLAPCEVICThe way my palms are itching this moment,if someone should begin to quarrel now,we would surely get a handsome reward.[113]VOIVODE MILIJAWhat a heavy rifle! Need any help?By God, Stanko, how can you carry it?VOIVODE STANKOIt is only a bother to me now;I haven't had to use it for some time.SIRDAR JANKOOh, how I shook with laughter last evening!Into our house there came by from somewheretwo wonderful young men of Bjelica.[114]They began to joke, as only they can.They told me that some of their own peoplehad built a mill upon a certain placewithout a pond or even a small brook;when they finished, they thought about water![115]VUK MANDUSICMy brother's wife must have lost her senses.You could not keep her quiet without ropes!I took her to 'prophets" who read from books.One said, "She has stepped on some dog's scratchings."[116]Another said, "She is bewitched for sure."I took her to all the monasteries,where they read to her over holy oil.In the cloisters I beseeched the devilto stay away from our Andjelija.I entreated the devil, all in vain!At last I took my whip of triple throng,[117]and scourged her shirt right into her own flesh.The devil fled somewhere without a trace,Andjelija, in turn, regained her health.VOIVODE BATRICTurkish brothers - may I be forgiven! -we have no cause to beat around the bush.Our land is small and it's pressed on all sides.Not one of us can live here peacefully,what with powers that are jawing for it;for both of us there is simply no room!Accept the faith of your own forefathers!Guard the honour of our dear fatherland!The wolf needs not the cunning of the fox![118]Nor has the hawk the need for eyeglasses.Start tearing down your minarets and mosques.Lay the Serbian Christmas-log on the fire,[119]paint the Easter eggs various colours,observe with care the lent and Christmas fasts.As for the rest, do what your heart desires!If you don't want to listen to Batric,I do swear by the faith of Obilic,and by these arms in which I put my trust,that both our faiths will be swimming in blood.Better will be the one that does not sink.Bairam[120]cannot be observed with Christmas!Is that not so, Montenegrin brothers?ALL CRYIt is so, and no other way![121]MUSTAI-KADIWhat do you say? Have you all lost your wits?You drive a thorn into a healthy foot!Why d'you burden the one true religionwith eggs and fasts and all those Christmas-logs?Torches are lit in the darkness of night,but who needs them when the sun is shining?In Allah's name, what clever discourses!They always talk of Cross and Infideland dream about something that cannot be.Allah be praised! Two hundred years have passedsince we embraced first the only true faithand became servants of our Allah.We're not cunning, by the Holy Kaaba!How can a weak linden cross[122]be pittedagainst the edge of our sharp, supple steel?When the true saint[123]strikes with his mighty mace,the earth begins to quiver from his blowlike a hollow pumpkin on the water.Petty people, how can you be so blind?You do not know the joys of paradise.You fight against both God and the people.You live without hope and die without it.You serve the Cross, want to be like Milos!"The Cross" - indeed an empty, lifeless word.Milos throws you into a strange stuporor leads you to excessive drunkenness.Bowing one day to Mecca is betterthan four years spent making Christian crosses.O Hurias,[124]with those azure-blue eyes!It is your fate to be mine forever.Where is the shade, and who can put it upbetween me and your beautiful blue eyes?Those eyes from which swift arrows keep darting;those eyes which can easily melt a stone,not to speak of a weak human being,born to melt before those lovely eyes;those eyes that are like crystal clear water,through which in two divine, radiant dropsAllah's power can be seen more clearlythan from a mount on a bright spring morning,as one gazes at the clear sea surface!o Istanbul, earthly delight and joy,a honey's cup, a mountain of sugar,the sweetest spa of human existence,where the women bathe in honiedsherbet! -O Istanbul, palace of the Prophet,the source of his power and his holy shrine -it is Allah's pleasure to rule the earthonly from the palace of the Prophet.What can ever separate me from you?Hundreds of times in the days of my youthI've hurried forth fresh from my bed, at dawn,toward your stream, crystal clear and lovely,in which your fair image is reflectedmore beautiful than the sun, dawn and moon.In the sky and in the waters I sawyour stone towers and pointed minarets,from which thousands of worshipful voicesrose piously toward the azure skiesin the wondrous silence of the daybreak,proclaiming to skies the almighty nameand to the earth the awesome Prophet's fame.What other faith can compare with this one?What altar stands closer to high heaven?KNEZ JANKOO Effendi, I thank you very much!(raises his hat)You have preached us a marvelous sermon.We have got what we have been asking for!VUK MICUNOVICLet the Cross and the Mace strike each other,but woe to him whose forehead gets broken!A whole egg wins over the one that's cracked.[125]You'll hear what I can do if I want to.KNEZ JANKOSo help me God, I don't want to listento thehodjain Ceklici againcooing on the top of that hollow tree,[126]perched like an owl on a rotten beech-tree!Whom does he call from that high positionevery morning at the break of the dawn?Whomever he calls, he has summoned him -why should I hide, for me he's not lighterthan if he were perched on top of my head.KNEZ ROGANSuddenly my left ear begins to ring.That means, I hope, some happy news for me.VUK MANDUSICCome on, Bajko, blow once into my eye,a lot of dust has gotten into it.SIRDAR JANKOLet someone strike fire so that we may smoke!That's the essence of the faith of Islam.Effendi won't feel offended by it.TOMAS MARTINOVICNow the ravens are croaking and fighting,soon there will be cheap meat in abundance.VUKOTA MRVALJEVICDon't step over my good rifle, Bajko![127]Go back over it retracing your steps!VUK MICUNOVIC(whispers in Sirdar Janko's ear)He holds the tail of the Hadji-Hadja[128]and will never loosen his grip on ittill a bitch or, perhaps, a millstone dies.[129]SKENDER-AGA(sees Vuk whispering and is displeased)What is all this, Montenegrin brothers?Who has fanned this ugly flame of discord?From where did come this unfortunate thoughtof conversing about changing our faith?Aren't we brothers despite differences?Didn't we fight the same battles together?We share the good and the bad like brothers.Doesn't both Turkish and Serbian maidens' haircover in grief the graves of slain heroes?SIRDAR VUKOTAO accursed land, may you perish in doom!Your name is most horrible and dreaded.No sooner does a young hero appearthan you take him away in early youth.Or if there is a brave man of honour,you snatch him, too, long before his time comes.Or if there is a garland of flowersto decorate the heads of lovely brides,you harvest it at the peak of flowering.My land, you have turned to blood for me now!In very truth you are now nothing morethan piles of bones and graveyard monuments,on which our youth, resolved and without fear,holds a solemn festival of horror.O Kosovo, the site of Judgment Day,may Sodom burst into flames on your field!VUK MICUNOVICShame on you for such ugly talk, Sirdar.What of our lads with their young ardent chests,in which the heart overcomes and rejectsquick blood inflamed with fiery haughtiness?Say, what are they? The noblest sacrificein heady flight from the fields of battleto a joyful kingdom of poetry,[130]just as along joyous rays of the suntranslucent drops of dew move to the sky.There is hardly greater shame than old age!Legs become weak, and the eyes betray us;the brain grows dim in the old pumpkin-head;the frowned forehead resembles a child's face;ugly pockmarks make the face look deformed,and bleary eyes recede into the head.Death laughs ghastly from under the forehead,as a turtlee peers from beneath its shell.Why d'you speak of Kosovo and Milos?It is there that we lost our happiness.But bravery and our Montenegrin namehave risen from Kosovo's tomb againabove the cloud into the knights' kingdom,where Obilic holds sway over shadows.SIRDAR IVAN PETROVICWith Mohammed came nonsense to your head!May your souls be accursed forever, Turks,for deluging the land in its own blood!One manger is too small for two horses.FERAT ZACIR, KAVAZBASANo, no, Sirdar, you're missing your target!The Turk cannot let his faith be blasphemedas long as his head is on his shoulders.Though this country is a bit too narrow,two faiths can live together side by side,just as two soups can be cooked in one pot.Let us live on together like brothers,and we will need no other love indeed!KNEZ JANKOWe would like to, Turks, but it cannot be!This love of ours is a strange kind of love.Our eyes do clash in a terrible way.They do not look at each other friendly,but vengefully and even savagely.The eyes do say what the heart commands them.VUK MANDUSICLook, my brothers, at this lovelyturban![131]For goodness sake, where d'you buy it, Aga?ARSLAN-AGA MUHADINOVICVuk Mandusic, I didn't buy it at all,the Vizier gave it to me as presentwhen last summer I visited Travnik.VUK MANDUSICFor your love's sake, do get me one like it.I will trade you an ox out of the yoke.ARSLAN-AGA MUHADINOVICI will give it to you for present, Vuk,if you agree to become my son'skum.[132]I'd like to have such brave man for akum.VUK MANDUSICThere can be nokumstvo[133]without baptism, even if it is done four times over.ARSLAN-AGA MUHADINOVICThe hair-cutting is the same as baptism.VUK MANDUSICAkumI'll be, but a stand-by never!A great commotion and altercation begins among the Turks and Montenegrins.The wiser men separate them so that they won't cut each others' throats.All of them quiet down. No one utters a word.KOLOThree sirdars brave and two voivodes bold,with three hundred falcon-heroes[134]of theirs -falcon Bajo[135]with his thirty dragons -they all will live as long as time endures.They lay in wait for Sendjer the Vizier[136]on the top of Mount Vrtijeljka[137]and fought till noon on a hot summer day.No Serb wanted to betray another,so that people would not blame him laterand point at his descendants as they doat the traitor house of Brankovics.[138]So they all fell, one beside the other,while still singing and striking at the Turks.Only three Serbs came forth from there alive,from under the piles of dead Turks' bodies -the Turks had run horses o'er the wounded.Beautiful death, glory to their mothers!Unto these brave men God will amply grantfame to their souls and incense on their graves.Three thousand youths, one brave as the other,struck suddenly at Sendjer the Vizierbefore daybreak on the Field of Krstac.[139]God gives power to those who always strive!They broke the might of Sendjer the Vizier!Lucky the man who happened to be there!The Kosovo wounds pain him no longer,he blames the Turks for nothing any more.Serbian heroes of Mount Vrtijeljka!A shining light will always be seen thereburning atop your consecrated tombs!Ten kavasses come from Podgorica,[140]sent by the new vizier;who is making a tour of the empire. They give Bishop Danilo a letterThe Bishop reads it thoughfullyVOIVODE BATRICTell us, Bishop, what does the Vizier write?We would not want anything to be hid,even if all Turks had grown mighty wings!BISHOP DANILO(reads the letter word for word)"Selim Vizier,[141]slave of the Prophet's slave,servant of the brother of the world's sun,envoy of him who rules all of the earth.Now be it known, leaders with your Bishop,that the tsar of all tsars has ordered meto make a tour of his land long and wide,to see if all is in perfect order,to see that wolves do not over-eat meat,to see that sheep do not wander astrayand lose their fleece in a bush by the road,to shorten that which is overly long,to pour out that which has been overfilled,to check the teeth of all the young people,to see that a rose doesn't get lost in thornsand that a pearl doesn't perish in the mire,and to tighten the reins of theraya,[142]since therayais like other livestock.And so I've heard about your mountains, too.The family of the holy Prophetknows the correct value of bravery.People lie when they say of the lionthat he's afraid of a mouse - not at all!Come to me now under my spacious tent,you, Bishop, and you, the leading sirdars.Show up only under the tsar's emblemin order to receive gifts from my hand,then you can live as you have lived before.Strong teeth can crack even the hardest nut.A good sabre can cut a club's handle,not to speak of a head of ripe cabbage.How can the reed be trained never to bendbefore the force of a strong hurricane?Who can prevent the onrushing torrentsfrom rushing on toward the wide blue sea?He who comes out from the splendid shadowof the Prophet's temlying bannerwill be burned by the sun as by lightning.A feeble fist can never forge tough steel!In a pumpkin mouse - what's but a captive?Why champ the bit - it only breaks the teeth!Without thunder heaven has no value.In a poor man eyes are like dishwater.The common folk are like stupid cattle -servile only when their ribs are cracking.Woe to the land over which armies pass!"KNEZ JANKOA merchant lies to you with a coy smile,a woman lies while she is shedding tears,but no one lies as deftly as a Turk.SIRDAR JANKOLet's not detain the envoys much longer;let us, instead, send them away quickly,that their pasha won't remain long in doubt.Let him know soon, then do whate'er he may.VUK MICUNOVICPlease answer him, Bishop, as best you know,and save his face just as he has saved yours!BISHOP DANILO(writes the answer)"An answer to Selim-Pasa's letterfrom the Bishop and the other leaders.Hard walnut is a peculiar fruit.You'll not break it, but it will break your teeth.The price of wine is not what once it was,nor is the world what you think it should be.To give Europe as present to Prophet -it is a sin even to think of it!A lar